Born still is STILL born

Four long months have passed since our baby passed.

Here's a short glimpse into my scattered mind currently:

I no longer appear to have just had a baby. His room is painted and packed away. All baby items are gone or at least covered up in the closets. There is no talk or preparation for "when the baby comes home."

The baby item coupons and emails are now discarded without a second glance, and are often joined with a few tears. I no longer spend hours trying to plan out the future..it's one day at a time around here.

Our thoughts of our son are often clouded with sadness instead of excitement and happiness...Lyla still questions the reason behind watching Wyatt grow so big and strong in Mommy's tummy only to never see him, and to now be forced to visit her brother in a cemetery.

Jealousy still reigns when I see women expecting or new mommies, especially if it happens to be their second, third, or fourth child. How can so many people be lucky enough to have that many live babies?! I've never been the lucky type. And I meant to say "lucky" instead of "blessed." You see, I'm having an issue with the word "blessed" lately. What is it exactly that sets me apart from all you blessed people? What did I do differently than you? Why was I not "blessed" with another "blessing"?  I know that some of you are going to disagree, and say that I am blessed. Blessed with a wonderful husband, precious little girl, nice house, and good health. Right? Then I will simply ask you to put yourself in my shoes (try really hard, although I promise you there's no way you'll get there unless you have BEEN in my shoes) and then try to proclaim that you are blessed. You will quickly look around and realize that the word is often used superficially and frequently used with arrogant pride.

Others often try to include him in conversation (myself included), however, I'm most often left with even more sadness at my backfiring thoughts. Yes, I think it's pretty awesome that he has touched so many people and that others can feel his presence and try to include him in their daily lives...but wouldn't it be so much better if he were here? with me? with his family? Better for who? See, there I go being selfish again.

I try so hard to picture Heaven. I try to picture Wyatt there. I try to imagine him with relatives and loved ones who have gone before us. I want to see him being cared for and loved on and playing on the fluffy clouds. It's just not that easy. I hate thinking that he is alone and so little. I want to hold and take care of my boy. I gasp for air when I think of him crying for me and I can't help him...I can't save him...I couldn't save him.

He was a baby. Our baby.

He was not a horrible tragedy that happened to us or a pregnancy that was lost.

He was not an awful situation or a frightening statistic.

 He was a fully developed little boy with soft skin and silky hair.

He has a name...a beautiful name.

He has a mother and father and big sister and family that already loved him; loved him before they ever saw him.

The love I have in my heart for him and the pain I feel from missing him is enough evidence for me that he existed.

He was born.